


It's Not Fair, Is It?

by iamavacado



Category: Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Murder, Russian Roulette, The Colonel - Freeform, The Mayor - Freeform, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Nothing like a game of Russian roulette to smooth over bad blood. But one of them knows the outcome, and the other is a pawn. Either way, no story book ending for anyone.





	It's Not Fair, Is It?

**Author's Note:**

> Just in time for Halloween! Enjoy.

"Oh hoh no," said William as he loosely pushed away the shot glass, "I shouldn't." Besides, he didn't want anything from Mark anyway. He was barely hiding his feelings as it was. In a completely drunk, unfiltered state, he might have ended up saying something that wasn't so nice. Even the presence of his friends and other good company wouldn't be able to hold him back.

"But I insist," continued Mark, placing the glass right in William's hand. "It's a night of celebration. Of fun. Of life. And as you always say--" he leaned in close-- "life always needs a bit of madness every now and then, eh?"

William looked down at the glass, filled almost to the brim with the same brown, slightly cloudy liquid the last six shots had been filled with. Then he looked up at Mark: the same smug, bright eyed, mischievous smile. Mark placed a friendly hand on William's shoulder.

"Take a risk, old fiend. Tonight, there are no boundaries." Mark then turned and grabbed his own shot glass from the Butler passing by, and he raised it to William, as if he were proposing that they'd drink together.

William cocked an eyebrow. "You don't drink," he said hesitantly. Mark's holier than thou attitude regarding alcohol pervaded every party he had ever accompanied William with. And before everything happened, he had frequented parties quite on the regular. What made this time different?

Mark smiled. Laughed a short laugh. "I drink tonight. Because I'm not afraid to let loose. Unless..." he indicated Will's glass-- "...you are?"

William was immediately offended. Look at the medals on his shirt! Did he look like some kind of coward to you? Absolutely not. "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating. I can cut loose with the best of them, and if you think attacking my pride is going to get me drunk then you are absolutely right!" 

Mark smiled wickedly. "Perfect." He raised his glass. "A toast?"

Will did the same, a bit unsure. "To the night?" he said, framed as a question. Without a clear reason for celebration, it was difficult to make a toast that was anything more than a vauge appraisal.

Mark nodded regardless. "To the night indeed."

Before they could drink, Damien walked up to the two of them. He offered a friendly handshake to Mark and The Colonel.

"Good evening to you both," he said. Though his words were slurred, his jacket was off, and his tie was half undone, Damien still tried to keep the air of professionalism he always possessed around others. As if trying to hide the fact that he'd been doing a keg stand moments earlier. 

"And a very beautiful evening to you friend," replied Mark, throwing an arm around Damien's shoulder. "The Colonel and I were just about to have another drink. Care to join?"

William made a small noise that served as an additional offer. 

Damien cocked an eyebrow. "It's been a while since I've seen the two of you act civilly towards one another."

Mark opened his mouth to say something, but Will butted in instead. "Oh worry not, my partner. It is only the fact that I am highly inebriated that I am speaking in more than a few short sentences to our host here. I assure you, as soon as I am sober, trust me, I will be back to my normal self, and our dear friend Mark will once again be the recipient of silence from me. Nothing more nothing less."

Though Damien seemed offended on Marks behalf by what William had said, Mark himself was unaffected, his amiable smile unwavering under the words. "Well, I'll take the fun while it lasts, huh?" he said, giving Will a slight nudge. He turned to Damien. "Let's continue the party, eh? No need to delve into personal matters to act as a stop sign for the fun. Have Ben bring in more drinks for everyone. On me!" He winked; as if the drinks could be on anyone else but him, seeing as this was his own house. Damien started to walk away, but before he could go, Mark leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Though William strained to hear what it was, the music playing so loudly made it impossible. Damien pulled away and nodded, smiling slightly. Mark slapped his shoulder and they both shot a strange look at The Colonel. Then he slipped out of sight.

Mark turned again to William. He raised his glass once more. "Shall we?"

Though Will was doubtful, he agreed. "We shall."

William and Mark clinked their drinks together. He then lowered the glass to his lips and threw his head back as he swallowed, closing his eyes as the firey taste slithered down his throat. It burned, as it so often did, but slightly less now that the effects off all the partying had started to weigh on him.

When he opened his eyes, he was not in the living room with the rest of the guests. The music had all but disappeared, playing muffled from somewhere. William was taken off guard as he looked around at what he determined to be the wine cellar.

It had aged since he'd seen it last. The wood was more green than brown, and the smell of mildew was stronger than it used to be. Several of the best wines were missing, and only a few dozen bottles remained. But it still contained the air of welcoming charm that it always had. He set his glass on the edge of the small counter near the holder.

"So."

William whirled around and found that he was not alone in the room. Mark was there, clothed in that atrocious red silk robe he always seemed to wear. On sight, Will felt disgusted, and started to make for the door.

He felt Mark grab his arm and spin him around. "Wait!" he said. "I brought us down here for a reason."

William jerked his arm back, barely tempted to stay. "It better be a good one," he spat.

For a second--barely even a second, more of a quick flash--Mark's face melted into something angry. He almost looked like a different person. But as soon as The Colonel caught it, it was gone, and his features were smoothed over into something relaxed again. "You know," Mark said, casually turning around and making his way to the wine holder. "If anyone deserves to be curt, it's me. I feel like you've done more to me than I've done to you, wouldn't you say?" He ran his fingers over the selections, and eventually picked one out of the group, as if plucking an apple from a tree. "I've trusted more. Lost more." He turned at looked at Will. "Forgiven more."

William stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed. "Your point?"

Mark took slow, relaxed steps towards Will, offering the wine bottle to him. "My point--" he gently placed it in William's hands-- "is I want to fix it. I want to mend the gap between us. I want us to be the way we used to be. Like brothers."

Will looked at the bottle. The makeshift peace offering, heavy in his hands. He popped the cork with his pocket knife. "I didn't think that was possible, seeing as your exact quote to me the last time we spoke was _'There is nothing in this world that will ever make me forgive you. I hope you die, you peice of trash'."_ He took a deep swig, staggering the least bit. The wine was sweeter than the whiskey, going down much smoother too. 

Mark waved a dismissive hand. "That was years ago. The old me. I've changed since then. And so have you, I'm sure."

Will didn't say anything. He just stood there, scowling.

"And so I want to be the way we used to," Mark repeated. "I want to fix this."

"And how do you go about doing that?" William asked. He half walked, half stumbled over to the edge of the counter and put the wine bottle on it, but not before taking one more drink.

Now it was Mark's turn to not say anything. They stood there, almost at a standoff, before William clicked his tongue in annoyance. "I didn't think so."

"But William--"

"Can't we change the subject?" proposed Will, exasperated. He spun around and crossed his arms in a huff. "If you're going to keep me in here then you better have something worthwhile to talk about." He pointed upstairs. "There's a poker game up there waiting for me, along with people I actually enjoy the company of! Now if you haven't got something worth my time, then I don't want to--"

"Let's play a game of Russian roulette."

Will's hands fells to his sides, taken off guard. "Wow, you really _have_ changed the subject."

Mark strode forward, hands closed into excited fists, face suddenly lit up. "Think about it Will: when was the last time you really felt a bond with someone? And I mean *really* felt it?"

William thought for a moment. "Well, when I was stuck in that god awful board game with my old shooting partner, we had to run away from a rabid crocodile." He chuckled at the memory. "It was a spectacle to see."

Mark clapped his hands together as if coming to a grand conclusion. He pointed at William. "Yes! Exactly! A _life_ or _death_ situation." He clasped his hands in front of him. "They form a bond between even the most grave of enemies."

Will crossed his arms, incredulous. "What exactly are you getting at?" he asked slowly.

Mark extended his hand. "Play Russian roulette with me. Your life against mine. One bullet. One gun. One shot."

William squinted at Mark, doubtful. "How do I know you won't just shoot me to get your revenge on me?"

"We'll be using your gun," Mark said, pointing at the silver polished revolver waiting patiently at the Colonel's belt. "You can load it yourself." He held his hand out once more. His voice was calm and soothing. "Shake my hand, old friend. After this, there will be no more venom between us, I am sure of it."

William looked at Mark's hand, then his own gun, then the half empty wine bottle sitting on the edge of the counter. He staggered over to it, grabbed it by the neck, raised it to his lips, and downed the rest of the wine. Drinking it all at once was less sweet than sipping it, but if he was going to agree to do anything with Mark--the bastard--then he'd have to be completely and utterly drunk in every sense of the word.

He slammed the bottle down, and took Mark's hand roughly. "Fine," he said. He reached down for his gun and pulled it out. "But like you said, I load it." His words were even more slurred now.

Mark stood professionally, as if preparing to give a lecture. "Of course."

William opened his gun and dumped the other five bullets into his pocket. The leftover bullet, the sixth, he left in. When he slipped the part into place, he spun it, so neither of them would know which slot the bullet was in. For all William knew, it was in the first one, so when Mark took his shot, he'd get his revenge. And for all Mark knew, the bullet was in the second slot, and Will would be the murderer of the night. 

He cocked the gun and placed it, like a child, into Mark's hands. Mark accepted it gratefully, examining each and every curve and crack. 

William grew impatient. "Alright, alright, go on ahead with it if you're going to do it." He was barely afraid of what could be certain death. He was too drunk to care; all he really wanted was to get upstairs and try out that wicked mixture that the district attorney was drinking. It was green. The wildest of all colors when it came to alcohol.

Mark looked at Will, then down at the gun, then back up at Will. Then he swiftly raised the gun and aimed it at William's heart. He pulled the trigger.

Though Will wasn't a coward of any sort, he still clenched his eyes shut: the prospect of being taken out by his own gun was somewhat ironic, and something he suddenly didn't want his death to be. But all he heard was a click. He opened one of his eyes.

Mark was standing there, holding the gun at arm's length, smiling at the Colonel. He let the arm fall as laughter overtook him. "See? It's not even dangerous. It's exciting."

Will became aware of how hard his heartbeat had become. A relieved smile broke across his face. "Yes, it is quite a rush isn't it? But--" he reached forward and took the gun from Mark-- "I'm sure it's even more of a rush to do the shooting."

"Oh," Mark agreed, "I'm sure it is." He placed his hands behind his back, egging William on with a head nod. "Your turn."

For good measure, Will spun the cylinder one more time to randomize the placement bullet even more. He just wanted to get back up to the party. If this whole thing allowed Mark to think that bygones were bygones then Will was in no position to deny him. Hopefully this would let Mark forget about all the money William owed him, too.

He almost chuckled at his own thoughts as he raised the gun. _With any luck,_ Will thought, _I actually will end up blowing his head off. That would show--_

He pulled the trigger. 

But instead of the disappointing click he fully expected to hear, the flash of light and the loud, echoed sound of the gun made William stagger backward. He looked down at the barrel, still smoking. He looked over at Mark.

For a moment, it looked only as if he had heard something poignant, and put his hand on his chest as a show of good will to the person saying it. But when he pulled his hand away, William saw that it was bloody. And then, with what almost seemed to be a satisfied look on his face, Mark collapsed to the floor. A stain of blood had already started growing out of the wound, bloodying the already crimson robe. 

Will's mouth hung open. He stared at Mark's body while it twitched, moved, then lay still.

"Dear god," Will whispered to himself. He was walking backward in slow steps, absolutely horrified of what he'd done. "Oh my god." His drunkenness made his mind cloudy, jumping from one thought to the next, unable to hang onto one long enough before another took its place. He fell back into the counter, elbowing the wine bottle. It fell and shattered on the ground in a million tiny pieces. 

The gun nearly dropped out of William's hand. He slipped in his belt and rushed over to lean down next to Mark. 

"Mark, no, please," he said. "This can't happen." 

He felt his neck, wrist, everything. No pulse. Nothing moved but the blood, which was slowly forming a pool around Mark's chest. Will looked down and saw that it had touched the tip of his shoe. He jumped up and moved back, pressing his body against the cold walls of the cellar, as if he could hide in the shadows, away from what had happened.

Despite his usual poise, Will felt himself wringing his hands together. "They're never going to believe this was an accident," he kept on saying to himself. "They never will."

_"Who knows?"_ he remembered Mark saying, _"I could be dead tomorrow."_

Will stared at the body before him. And it all started to make sense.

_"And as you always say, life always needs a bit of madness every now and then,eh?"_

_"To the night indeed."_

Will's face contorted with anger and disbelief. It all made sense.

_"I want to mend the gap between us."_

_"I've changed since then."_

_"Let's play a game of Russian roulette."_

"You bastard," he said to the smiling corpse.

_"After this, there will be no more venom between us..."_

"You BASTARD!"

_"...I'm sure of it."_

Will fell next to the body, gripping the cold face in his hands. 

_"Your turn."_

"You knew," he said to the lifeless eyes.

That wicked, knowing smile.

"You KNEW!" he screamed. "HOW DID YOU KNOW?" As if the face could answer.

Tears, unknowingly, welled up as he screamed again, "How did you know!?"

His head fell onto Mark's chest as Will kneeled there above his body. He held Mark's head and cradled it in his hands, no longer caring if the blood got onto his clothes. He mumbled the same question for near an hour. "How did you know? How? How?"

Finally, he just sit there, staring at the face that had since turned gray. 

"It's not fair," William whispered. 

No. It's not fair.

Is it?

**Author's Note:**

> Any thoughts? Criticism? Praise? Leave a comment!


End file.
